


When Given The Chance

by Klepto_Crow



Category: Mystery Skulls Animated
Genre: Criticism is Welcome, Drinking, Galahad will work his way into all my fics, He needs to make up for some stuff, Heartbroken Arthur, I swear, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Jealousy, Lewis fudged up, Multi, Off screen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Possessiveness, Tags Are Hard, Tags May Change, The Author Regrets Everything, Working title, as long as it's constructive, some violence, specifically posting this without an idea where it's going, they will likely come later though
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:49:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22042834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Klepto_Crow/pseuds/Klepto_Crow
Summary: Lewis is back, but the Mystery Skulls are far from where they used to be. It would take a miracle to bring them back together. Or, perhaps, an unplanned visit to a run-down bar.(I'm not good at summaries, my fellow avians, so please bear with me)
Relationships: Arthur (Mystery Skulls Animated)/Original Character(s), Arthur/Lewis (Mystery Skulls Animated), Arthur/Lewis/Vivi (Mystery Skulls Animated), Lewis/Vivi (Mystery Skulls Animated)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 74





	When Given The Chance

**Author's Note:**

> I know I'm not the best writer. I'm definitely not qualified and I'm working on my first fic already as it is, but this idea has been bouncing around my head and I haven't managed to find anyone else doing it so... Yeah, I wanted to play with the idea of Arthur/male OC and how that would effect an undevelloped ot3. Comments are definitely welcome, as they will aid me in understanding how well (or not) the story is received, the editing, and its development.

“I’m- _hic_ -I’m sorry! I’m so so sor-r-ry! Lew-”

“Sorry doesn’t fix anything.”

* * *

Arthur Kingsman doesn’t know how he got here, nor where exactly ‘here’ is. One moment he was sitting in his uncle’s truck, planning out a nice evening of sobbing into a large tub of ice cream and a Surf’s Up Surprise pizza, and the next he was on a stool, tapping scuffed metal fingers against a cheap, sticky bartop. 

He doesn’t remember parking the van either, much less entering whatever dive this place is, but he wasn’t complaining. Much. 

Wrinkling his nose at the menu, Arthur skimmed the list of bizarrely named alcohols. Contrary to the stigma placed upon mechanics, he was never the beer type of guy. Anything more than one can left him ill and the smell alone was enough to have him suppressing a gag. To him, beer was an only-if-he-must kind of drink, it's only saving point being its inebriating quality. Wine, on the other hand, was sweet and just as intoxicating. He could get drunk off of wine. 

And Arthur had plans to get very, _very_ drunk. 

Eight months ago they lost Lewis. He remembers that day, when the four of them—Lewis, Vivi, Mystery and he—set off to investigate a mysterious glowing cave in the middle of nowhere. He had had a bad feeling about the case from the very beginning, but his worries had fallen on deaf ears. Vivi was absolutely ecstatic, Lewis looked forward to the pay out, and Mystery was just a dog. Arthur was just being his usual cowardly self, they told him- _in a nicer way, of course, but nonetheless-_ and just like that the case was a go. It hurt a bit, but Arthur couldn’t deny that he worried over every case the Mystery Skulls took on, so he bottled it up ~~like always~~ and went along. 

Unfortunately for Arthur, the case was several days drive away and he was stuck in a van with the most affectionate couple to grace this earth. Not that he had a problem with their relationship. He was glad they had found happiness in one another. He wasn’t jealous. He wasn't! It’s just… When Vivi got that look on her face, eyes twinkling and smile wide because of a new case, Arthur’s breath stuttered. When Lewis laughed, that deep baritone laugh, his stomach alighted with butterflies. When Lewis and Vivi kissed, an unbidden, wistful sigh would escape him. At first, he tried to tell himself that it was normal to feel this way. His friends were amazing people! But when the butterflies overflowed and he could delude himself no more, Arthur admitted defeat. He was in love, so, yes, he was jealous, of both of them no less, and crushingly afraid that they would reject him if they knew. They were his _only_ friends. He couldn’t risk it all for some silly crush, he told himself, so when Lewis and Vivi smiled and laughed and kissed, Arthur took all of his unrequited feelings and stuffed them deep down. 

He was ashamed of himself, pining after an already complete relationship, and absolutely terrified of being found out. He remembers carrying those emotions through the caves entrance. He remembers the hair raising on the back of his neck and the internal screaming of _wrong wrong wrong_ . He remembers clinging to Lewis’ back, trembling and then… And then he was in a white room, a hospital, missing an arm and a weeks worth of time.

It didn’t take long before he discovered what else was missing. Vivi, he discovered, could not remember Lewis at all and the easy relationship he once had with Mystery was _gone_ . But worst of all, Lewis was _missing_. 

And then he wasn’t.

Six months ago Arthur hauled himself out of his depressive state and launched a state-wide search for Lewis. He pushed aside his need for sleep, his need for food, his need for _therapy_ and anything resembling self-care, and focused solely on his missing friend, his missing _love_. Vivi, thank the heavens, went along with the whole thing despite not understanding who this mysterious friend of his was. Uncle Lance put up more of a fight, but even he knew that the Kingsman stubbornness ran stronger in Arthur than him, especially in regards to Arthur's friends. Thus, two months of mapping and sleeplessness and desperation commenced. At least, it did until the van broke down one clear night in front of a spooky purple mansion in the middle of nowhere. 

Four months ago they found Lewis. At first, he didn’t recognize the purple ghost as their long lost member. How could he? He’d been searching for the past two months under the unwavering belief that Lewis was alive, missing his memory and lost beyond a clue. He was searching for the man he knew, a man he _loved_. A man who radiated warmth and protection. A gentle giant who cooked on the weekends and nagged at their health. A purple obsessed man who enjoyed Chocolate Jolokia and Sailor Moon. **That** was the Lewis he was looking for, the Lewis he knew. The Lewis he knew was alive. The Lewis he knew would never glare at him like that. The Lewis he knew would never try to kill him… But the Lewis he knew was dead, in more ways than one, replaced with a new Lewis. A Lewis who almost threw him off a cliff. His life only saved by the shock of Vivi’s scream, a gunshot, and a fearsome roar. Not that those were any more pleasant. 

Like a blur, human and wraith streaked out of the haunted shipping truck and stumbled straight into a clusterfuck of supernatural chaos. Vivi laid on the floor, a cut across her cheek but otherwise uninjured, and Arthur's uncle stood centerfield with his trusty shotgun, explaining the gun shot they heard, but that was where anything normal ended. On the plus side, Arthur can now identify the large canid that took his arm.

The first few weeks of Lewis’ return were some of the worst weeks in Arthur’s entire existence. He had tried, by _god_ had he tried, to reconnect with Lewis, to just _explain_ himself, but every attempt was met with curdling glares at best and second degree burns at worst. The only reason Lewis had yet to outright kill him was, once again, Vivi. Vivi and Lewis were back to dating. Her memories were returning sporadically, but they were enough to rekindle her love for Lewis. At the same time, Arthur was her best friend, and she urged the two to get along. She didn’t know that Lewis tried to kill Arthur before running to her rescue. Arthur wasn’t going to be the one to tell her. 

She mustn't have known Arthur was the one who pushed Lewis, and Lewis certainly believed Arthur did the deed of his own free will. The only ones who knew the full story were Arthur and Mystery, and Arthur would keep it that way. No need to break Vivi’s heart when she was already so unbalanced. No need to burden her with his problems. Privately, the guilt that clogged Arthur’s airways and nestled in his brain told him he deserved it. Possessed or not, it was his arm that pushed Lewis off of that cliff, and he refused to listen to any of Mystery’s reasoning against such. 

Arthur remembered when they bought the apartment, each of them pitching in their meager savings to pay rent. He remembers laughing with them, painting walls and arranging furniture. He remembers how they made a promise to each other, that no matter what happened, they would always come back home, together… It took three months for the kettle to boil over. 

One month ago, Arthur was kicked out of their shared apartment. Arthur spent much of his adolescence desperately trying to please others. He suppressed his feminine nature, the one that prompted his father to abandon him on the porch of a mechanics shop. He ran himself ragged trying to impress his uncle ( _his only family left, he couldn’t lose him_ ). He threw himself into academics, robotics, mechanical engineering, anything to gain the approval he desperately sought. He designed an image, the cheerful, if easily spooked, mechanic, and _lived_ it. And above all, he dropped _everything_ to ensure he would always have Them, his best friends, his first loves. 

He didn’t have Them anymore, and, honestly, he could care less about his image right now. Flagging down the bartender, Arthur ordered the first of what was to be many glasses of red red wine, ignored the bartenders raised eyebrow when he immediately swigged half the glass, and settled down to observe the rest of the establishment.

The place wasn’t anything special. Tacky green carpeting and sticky tables that have seen better days littered about in a haphazard arrangement spoke to its floor plan. The obligatory pool table area with a hole riddled dartboard commandeered the immediate left upon entering the pub. The bar area-with it's rickety stools, _G_ _od_ the engineer in him was _twitching_ -lined nearly the entire right wall. Two outward opening doors he assumed were bathrooms, one on the left and one on the right, stood to either side of the back wall. Questionable stains spotted the floor and there were chips in the aging brick foundation. 

Really, the only saving grace about the joint was the stage plopped right in the center back: a dinky wooden half circle with a surprisingly high tech stereo system and a lone microphone. Evidently, The Pantry, as the sign above the stage helpfully informs, was very proud of its karaoke Thursdays. Today happens to be Thursday. 

Running his flesh hand through ungelled, shoulder length blonde locks, Arthur let out a choked breath. He’s been living with his uncle, back in his teenage room, since his falling out with the Mystery Crew. Like all cliches go, he ended his journey exactly where it began, upon his uncle’s porch, meager belongings in bags at his feet and tears streaking down his face, without any idea where else to go. He expected to be turned away ( _Lord knows his uncle didn’t ask for any of this_ ), or to be lectured, questioned at least, but his uncle did none of those things. Instead, he took in Arthur’s state silently and, with a gentleness rarely seen, welcomed Arthur home. 

The next few days were a blur of chaotic mood swings and crying, but, with his uncle’s help, Arthur was slowly improving. He was able to pick himself up and go to work, be a proper caretaker for Galahad, and regain some lost weight. However, that didn’t mean he doesn’t have relapses. Like right now, for example.

It was already eight at night, he had no idea just how far from home he was, and he knew his uncle would disapprove, but it was a little too late to leave now. Might as well make the most of it. 

As Arthur sipped at his second (third?) glass of wine he observed the occasional tipsy patron take to the stage, filling the air with discordant melodies not unlike nails on a chalkboard. He could feel a headache creeping on. It was truly atrocious. He was supposed to be _moving on_ , but here he was, holding a personaly pity party and being assaulted by warbled love songs. After the fifth wasted singer and his fourth, sixth, _whatever_ glass of wine, Arthur had had enough. 

Stomping his way to the stage, stumbling only once, _thank you very much_ , he tackled the creaky steps, snatched up the microphone… and promptly drew a blank. What was he doing? He was synth and keytar not vocals and melodies! He wasn’t the singer of their group. He couldn’t just steal the lead position! That job belonged to… to Lewis. 

Lewis, who loathed his mere existence. Lewis, who wanted him dead. Lewis, who threw away years of friendship in exchange for the easier narrative and a convenient scapegoat. Lewis, who Arthur hadn’t seen in one-going-on-two months. Lewis, who couldn’t care less where Arthur was right now or how he was doing. 

Well...Arthur could damn well do what he pleased then. What the rest of the Mystery Skulls didn’t know was that Lewis wasn’t the only vocalist in the group. In fact, Arthur loved to sing, crooning along to the radio since toddlerhood and declaring his undying love for Queen by age seven. When the Mystery Skulls began, however, Lewis was named the lead singer, no questions asked, and Arthur… Arthur just let it happen, too timid to speak up. No more. 

It’s been a while since Arthur last sang, but whatever he did couldn’t be any worse than what he’s already heard tonight. The pubs’ playlist was surprisingly diverse, but one song in particular caught the attention of woeful amber eyes. If Arthur were even half-way sober, he never would have had the courage to climb the stage. He would have talked himself out of his anger. He wasn’t half-way sober, though, so instead, Arthur hardened his resolve and let himself click play. Sober Arthur can panic about this later.

  
  



End file.
